I love Eliana’s little upturned nose. I love her perfect rosebud lips. I love her long, long feet and toes. I love her tiny little baby doll body. I love how she’d sleep through absolutely anything as long as she was nestled in my arms. I love how unbelievably soft her head was. I love her sweet baby smell. I love how she’d stare deep into my eyes and not break eye contact. I love her giant open mouthed baby smile. I love how she’d sleep with her fists next to her face. I love her startle reflex. I love how she’d move her left leg around if you tickled her belly just right. I love how her lower lip would pout out. I love her soft fussing noise. I love how content and happy she was, even when it was difficult for her to breathe. I love how she’d whap the hospital staff in the nose with her IV board if they got their faces too close. I love how she’d stare in wonder at the mobile on her crib. I love how she’d move her breathing tube into her mouth to suck on. I love that even right after surgery, while on sedatives and a paralytic, she somehow managed to move her lips to try to nurse. I love everything about her, except that she’s not here.

I hate that she is dead. I hate that I won’t get to see these things again. And I hate that there will never be anything new to add to this list. There’s a lot to love, but it will never be enough.